


Again, I Would Spend Them With You

by Theeniebean



Series: Bootstrap Paradox [3]
Category: Life on Mars & Related Fandoms, Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 09:30:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17916245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theeniebean/pseuds/Theeniebean
Summary: What happens after Sam jumps?





	Again, I Would Spend Them With You

He'd thrown himself from the roof with a promise of a better tomorrow, one wrapped in every single yesterday; but now it just seemed to be more of the same. He trudged down the street, not in regret, but in dire repetition. The monotony of it was getting to him, the wiggling doubt that the future he'd seen had just been a delusion.

He snorted, later, knocking back the dregs of beer from his glass in his wasted flat. As though he could make a move. As though Gene were really that into male bonding. And yet -

And yet he'd seen the way they'd danced, those two old men caught up in each other, in those decades of history neatly wrapped in a package with so many layers. He'd leapt for that, to preserve that, to get that for himself. Sure, he knew pop culture, knew what to expect with the oncoming decades, but that - that had been something else entirely.

How could that happen - how could it have and will have happened when he'd let them all down? They didn't even talk to him beyond the bare minimum required for the job - even Annie, even after that kiss, she'd asked him to stay, but then she drifted herself. Everything that'd anchored him, all the ties to here and now had strapped themselves to his ankles - it felt more like he'd been dragged back down by the weight of it than uplifted by the rush of wind as he'd fallen - when he'd jumped. He jumped, and felt the impact every night in his dreams.

Still. 

It was done now - and he felt it, and it was real, even if it felt like shit. Sometimes, he damned Nelson, but only sometimes.

\--

The next morning was more of the same. Shabby furnishings, meager savings to get a flat that didn't must itself over each morning. Shower, shave, work. Ray making digs, Chris skirting the subject. Annie's soft smiles but hurried responses. Gene. Pub. Buy enough rounds to make up for spent bullets. Fail miserably. Home. Alcohol. Oblivion.

Rinse, repeat. 

Again and again like a dancer in a wind-up music box, performing for the world and never himself, he went about his life; eroding the memory of Gene's weathered hand on his own lined face so many years from now, that moment set to Jim Croce that he'd stolen for himself when they'd thought he'd left to make his choice, as though he'd had a choice to make. It blurred in his mind's eye - voices that hadn't been there whispered over his shoulder as he watched and rewound and watched again around the doorframe. Gene's disregard from the present sullying those feelings from the future like hot breath against his neck.

He'd come back for other things, of course; he wasn't a Romeo, taking the kiss of death for promise of reunion with one person, forsaking all others. He'd longed for life itself - the breathing, disgusting, wretched, vibrant air of it all, free from the confines of the parameters he'd thought defined him before all this had happened. 

But he felt as alone as he'd had when he first got here - and even Annie wasn't giving him the benefit of the doubt now. Sure, they'd sussed out that the Williams debacle had been a ruse - the 'real' paperwork located and filed accordingly, but that didn't stop the stain of Sam believing it, of everything that came from it and with it.

He buried his head in his hands at the small table in his flat, having skipped out on the pub for one reason or another. Exhaustion, maybe - all the rounds in the world wouldn't wipe clean the grudge and grime, nor did his wallet understand the all-encompassing need for redemption besides. He could buy his own friends at the corner shop, and they didn't jab at him as he passed the pints.

So maybe he'd made so many new friends that he didn't quite hear the knocking, though the door snapping off its hinges did certainly make a statement all its own shortly afterward. Heavy eyes started toward the frame, bleary as the beige menace suddenly appeared at the seat across from him. Glasses, liquid splatters, whiskey. 

He sucked in a burning breath as Gene lit a cigarette. Squinted as the DCI spoke, trying to catch words said at him, never to him. Felt the sting of a too-hard slap at his cheek when it became mildly obvious how spent he was, and then focused as the vibrant blur told him to, to - "-- stop feeling so sorry for yourself, Samantha. Ray's not as charitable as I am, and Chris isn't one to make up his own mind. I can't speak much for the birds, but it'll take more'n a few pints to get 'em all back in your good graces."

Sam pulled himself up, slurring - "Y'mean me back in theirs, guv." He scratched at his scalp, putting forth all the effort of keeping up appearances that a drunk man at a job interview could manage. The other man snorted, leaning back in his own chair, shifting his dodgy leg up onto the trundle bed.

"That's your problem there," He continued, knocking back another drink. Leveled a look at Sam, a proper one, a sobering one that stumbled down the DI's spine. "You're goin' about it the wrong way. All the drinks in the world ain't going to fix this. Bein' polite an' nice and a right sad prat aren't gonna make 'em forgive you."

Sam leaned forward again, reaching for his drink. Missed. And again - the golden gift slid down his throat. He wasn't quite sure what the crux of his retort was, but it finished with, "Fuck Ray.", and gave him Gene's laughter, genuine, pleased. A smile stretched across his own face, his own laughter joined in chorus. 

They'd spoken more, though he'd be pressed to recall what. What he did recall, though, intimately, was his hand on Gene's arm as they stood in the broken doorway, his hand against the other man's cheek. The way Gene, for once in the time Sam had known him, turned tail and fled. The crushing, oppressive grip on his heart. 

All the time in the world that had been promised to him by those two old men, every bottle of it saved, evaporated. Those men, nothing but a mirage in a desert, leaving him to die of thirst, to suffocate in the sand.

He righted the door as best he could and slept on the bathroom floor.

\---

Gene, to the endless, awful, distressed gratitude of Sam, did not mention it. Didn't allude to it. It did not happen. It was not A Thing. Business as usual. As such, ever so slowly, things began to settle back down. Annie smiled at him more. Chris came to call for advice. Ray - well, was Ray, mostly. They'd all meshed back together as the calendar flipped, and CID strode ever onward.

Except for one day, when Gene grabbed Sam's arm as they were all piling into the lift. Waited, caught the return trip down. Piled into the Cortina. Silence, of course - they didn't speak when it was just the two of them, not since that night - or maybe since the train; Sam had lost count of every brick in the wall erected between them. But then they'd reached the outskirts of town. Then, Gene had turned the key and let the engine settle. Then, and only then, he'd turned to Sam, properly, eye contact and all. The bricks between them crumbled to dust. 

When Gene spoke, Sam's world fell silent. "I'll ask this once, Tyler. Just once, so be honest." And he'd asked. He'd spoken his truth, as though inviting Sam into that front room three decades from now, bottle and record in hand - and Sam laughed. He'd laughed unabashed and then waved his hands when Gene visibly cringed, when he'd readily prepared a dismissive reply.

"No, no - I mean, yes, Guv. I did. I do." He chewed his lip, smiling, stifling his laughter as he ran a hand over his face. "I just thought you were going to put me in the boot again, or beat me with a shovel or summat for making a move." 

Off-guard, with a look Sam would remember until his dying day, light from the setting sun caught in golden hair, Gene snorted, leaning in close. "Don't tempt me, Gladys." He paused, chewing it over before taking Sam's chin with his hand. "This is the sort've thing you do sober if you got any class."

He tasted like cigarettes and Sam could see now why Gene led when the old men danced.

**Author's Note:**

> Time in a Bottle is their song and I'll fight a man who says otherwise.
> 
> 2/24 - I wrote this while drinking, so I'll actually edit it tomorrow, but I wanted to post it now. whoops.jpg


End file.
